


Dragon Healing for Pleasure and Profit

by whelvenwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Muggle Cas, Wizard Dean, dragon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 22:32:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1874874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whelvenwings/pseuds/whelvenwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Cas, a zoologist and aspiring author, moves into the house next door, Dean can't help but go over and say hi. He hadn't reckoned, however, on Cas' determination to discover whatever it is that's living in the nearby woods. Dean should follow his instructions and send the guy away, and yet there's always something stopping him. After all, whoever said a muggle couldn't heal a dragon?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dragon Healing for Pleasure and Profit

The sun was reaching its hot, bright zenith as Cas emerged from his new house, making him squint myopically as he surveyed the boxes left to be brought in. He sighed; it was going to be a long afternoon. He bent down to read the labels on the crates, deciding which ones to bring in first.

“Can I give you a hand, there?” said a low, warm voice. Cas jumped and looked up, half-blinded by the sun but able to make out the silhouette of someone standing above him. “I’m Dean,” the person said. “You must be my new neighbour.”

Cas straightened, shielding his eyes with one hand; able to see Dean properly, he felt suddenly all-too-aware of his raggedy t-shirt, scruffy old jeans and light sheen of sweat on his forehead. Dean was tall and handsome – Cas wondered if he’d ever used that word correctly until now, because it probably shouldn’t be applied to anyone without stunningly green eyes and full, softly smiling lips.

“Can I help you take these in?” Dean asked, his eyebrows raising in slight amusement at Cas’ prolonged silence.

“Oh,” Cas started, looking down at the boxes around him to hide his slight blush. He should reject the offer straight away, of course – socialising never went all that well for him – but Dean was watching him with a light, cheerful expectation in his eyes. And he had freckles on his nose, and dusted across his slightly sunburned cheeks. Cas swallowed. “Well, that would be very helpful. As long as it’s no imposition?”

“Absolutely not,” Dean said, relaxed and smiling.

“Well, then… thank you, Dean,” Cas said hesitantly, bending to pick up the heaviest box, so that Dean wouldn’t have to take it. “If you could follow me?” He turned away for a moment to check that his front door hadn’t swung closed; he thought he heard Dean mutter something, and when he looked back, Dean had four boxes stacked one on top of the other, holding them easily in his arms.

“What?” Dean asked with a grin, noticing Cas’ stare.

“It – it’s just…” the labels on a couple of the boxes caught Cas’ eye:  _crockery._ That meant his full dinner service was in there. “Are you sure you can manage all of those?”

“Sure,” Dean replied, shifting the lowest box in the stack so that it rested comfortably on his hip. “No problem. Shall we?”

Cas snapped his mouth shut and started to follow Dean up his garden path. Dean didn’t seem to be staggering at all; perhaps Cas had mislabelled the boxes? There was no way Dean was carrying that amount of weight and practically bouncing up the steps to the porch. He jumped the last one, turning back to Cas with a grin.

“Show-off,” Cas said.

“It’s only showing off if you’re impressed,” Dean replied, raising his eyebrows and smirking.

“Then it’s not showing off,” said Cas, deadpan, but with a small twinkle in his eye. Dean’s smile widened. “Put those ones in the kitchen, will you? It’s down the corridor, second on the left. I’ll just put this one upstairs in the bedroom.”

Cas walked up the stairs as fast as he could, the heavy box making his arms ache. He dumped it on his unmade bed, and then moved over to the mirror. He repressed a groan, and pulled his t-shirt straight – it had been riding up over his hip on one side – and tried to flatten his hair, which was looking especially wild that day, since he’d been running his hands through it in despair at the amount of work he had left to do.

“Can I start unpacking?” Dean hollered up the stairs.

“Oh – yes, of course, if you don’t –”

“Not at all,” Dean called, and Cas could hear him walking back to the kitchen, pushing through the squeaky door. He sighed. Could he change his t-shirt? No, that would look as though he were making too much of an effort. He sprayed a little deodorant under his arms, coughing to cover the noise of the aerosol, just in case Dean could hear.

At the top of the stairs, he had a brief crisis of doubt; perhaps he should just ask Dean to leave. It wasn’t as though he’d been friends with any of his neighbours back in New York, after all. He managed just fine in his own company. Having Dean in the house was giving him a strange, fluttery feeling; he’d be much more comfortable on his own, like usual.

He pushed open the door to the kitchen, a grateful farewell to Dean sitting on the tip of his tongue; it melted like a chip of ice when he saw Dean, surrounded by empty crates, putting one last plate carefully inside a cabinet.

“You –” Castiel began. “You unpacked the whole thing?”

“Yep,” said Dean cheerfully. “Am I showing off, yet?”

Cas stared around the kitchen, taking in the toaster, cup tree and vase of flowers on the table.

“Maybe a little,” Cas replied reluctantly. “You did all the plates as well?” Dean walked over to the doorway, and flicked at Cas with a rolled-up tea towel.

“Well, there are those who say I’m a  _dishtinguished_  unpacker,” he said, pushing past Cas and heading back down the hall.

“I believe you,” said Cas, a little numbly. His new neighbour appeared to be some kind of – of  _wizard_ , given how fast he’d put away all that crockery.

“By the way,” Dean said when Cas joined him outside, under the hot sun once more. “You never mentioned your name?”

“Oh, I apologise,” Cas said. “My name is Castiel.”

Dean barely blinked at the unusual name.

“Castiel,” he said. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Normally people ask about my name,” Cas said, bending down to read the labels on the remaining boxes. Dean shrugged.

“I’ve heard weirder, trust me,” he said with a smile.

“Really?”

“How about…” Dean considered for a moment. “Xenophilius Lovegood?”

Cas tilted his head to one side.

“That name is significantly weirder than mine,” he agreed. Dean clapped his hands together.

“Right, let’s get these in,” he said. “Then we can unpack them. And then we can have a nice cold beer on the porch while you tell me all about yourself.”

Cas laughed self-consciously.

“I’m not sure that there’s all that much to tell,” he said awkwardly, hefting a box of books into his arms.

Dean shrugged.

“Then we can just talk about the universe, and all that crap,” he said. “I’m not picky.”

**

“So, you studied in New York,” Dean said, taking a long, appreciative sip of beer. Cas was sitting next to him, perched uncomfortably on the edge of the swinging chair that Dean had set up on his porch. The evening sun was setting over the roofs of the houses opposite.

“Yes, I studied zoology,” Cas replied, taking a tentative mouthful of beer. It tasted a little bitter, but it was cold and thirst-quenching, so he took another.

“Oh, really? You like animals?”

“Yes, that’s why I moved out here. I’ve heard the woods are full of wildlife,” Cas said. He sat back slightly on the seat; Dean’s sincere, relaxed interest was calming.

“You could say that,” said Dean, with a smile that Cas didn’t fully understand. “You’re gonna study the animals, or look for work?”

“I’m…” Cas swallowed. This part was embarrassing; every person he’d told so far had teased him, laughed his protestations of seriousness into silence. “I was actually thinking of writing a book.”

Dean’s face lit up.

“Oh, man, that sounds great!” he said enthusiastically, and Cas felt a spark of unfamiliar excitement run down his spine.

“I think it will be!” he said, speaking more animatedly than he had in weeks; Dean smiled and cocked his head in response, his eyes warm. “I’ve been hearing about the patterns of behaviour that animals in this area have been exhibiting. Unusual migratory paths, strange eating habits… an unlikely amount of carcasses being found in the woods. I think there may be a predator in there, something big.”

“Oh, you do?” Dean said, with a strange expression on his face; he looked vaguely uncomfortable, but also… impressed?

“That’s what the data suggests,” Cas pressed on eagerly. “I’m going to go and find it.”

 “Whoa, there. I mean, if it’s a big predator, won’t you be in danger?” Dean asked, his mouth a little twisted in concern.

“I will take precautions,” Cas assured him. “I know how to disguise my scent, and blend in with my surroundings. I do also own a knife.”

“Oh, yeah? You any good with it?”

“Fairly proficient,” Cas said defensively, not understanding the shift in Dean’s mood; but Dean was relaxing again now, looking down at the hand gripping his beer bottle.

“Sorry, Cas, it’s just – I spend a bit of time out in the woods myself, and I know it can be dangerous out there. Say, uh…” Dean tailed off, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. Cas found himself watching Dean’s fingers moving over the soft skin; he swallowed and looked away.

“Yes, Dean?” he prompted.

“How about, the first time you go out to the woods, I go with you? I know all the paths. I could show you round,” Dean suggested, raising his eyebrows and smiling persuasively.

“Oh. Dean, I…” it was Cas’ turn to trail off. He was so used to being alone, he couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to have someone else present while he worked. But Dean was kind and willing; and, if Cas were honest with himself, he really didn’t have it in him to refuse Dean anything when he was sitting sprawled like that on the swing-chair: legs apart, one arm draped over the back, tanned and loose and hopeful.

“Yes, Dean,” he said. “I’d like that, very much.”

Dean reached over, clinked his bottle on Cas’.

“To finding the terrifying monster,” he said, taking a hearty swig; Cas, a tentatively small smile on his face, drank too.

They didn’t talk much after that. The sun set slowly, and they watched it go down in comfortable silence.

**

Deep in the underground labyrinth of the British Ministry of Magic, Dean Winchester shifted uncomfortably in his chair and gulped. He was on the unenviable receiving end of one of Bela’s hard stares.

“He’s just a guy,” Dean said half-heartedly. “It’s no big. I’ll just keep him out of danger, and then –”

“And then  _what_ , Mr Winchester?” Bela snapped. “How are you going to take him into the woods without him seeing things that he shouldn’t? Do I have to remind you that he’s a muggle?”

“That’s  _Professor_ Winchester, thanks,” Dean retorted, glowering. “I know he’s a muggle, but he’s a good guy, and he’s a zoologist. He knows about this kind of crap, maybe he could even help!”

“No. No, no, no,” Bela insisted, leaning forwards to rest her elbows on the mahogany desk that sat between them. “It’s just not possible,  _Professor._  He’s a muggle. He should stick to doing muggle things, chasing after non-magical creatures, watching television.”

“But –”

“No buts, Professor,” Bela said sharply.

Dean fumed.

“Look, I’m here as a courtesy,” he said angrily. “I should be back at Hogwarts right now, preparing my lessons for next year. The bowtruckles are probably getting out of hand, and the pumpkin patch is gonna be full of flobberworms – but here I am, doing you a favour. So tell me, where the hell do you get off telling me what to do?”

Bela’s eyes glittered dangerously.

“I get off,” she said sweetly, “at the station called, ‘I Can Have You Arrested by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement If You Even Think of Telling That Muggle Anything about Our World.’ I hope that makes your situation clear, Professor. Send the nice man away, and we’ll have you back with your flobberworms in no time at all.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but he could see that it’d be no use. He gritted his teeth and left the office, heading towards the lobby where he could apparate home.

**

“You have to be  _very_ quiet,” Cas whispered, taking long, silent strides along the soft dirt track that ran through the woods.

“Mmhmm,” Dean said, and out of the corner of his eye, Cas could see Dean watching him sidelong with a small smile. He hefted his backpack higher up his shoulder, and ran a hand through his hair.

“The important thing about tracking,” Cas said, “is to keep your eyes open. Not just to details, but to the bigger picture, too. I once almost missed seeing a grizzly bear, because I was too focused on analysing the tracks of some young otters.” Cas paused, before adding sadly, “It was wonderful, but I never did see those otters.”

Dean’s smile broadened.

“What?” Cas demanded.

“Nothing,” Dean responded, trying to pull the corners of his mouth down and failing. “Just – you.”

Cas flushed happily, and bent his head back down to watching the path. Dean cleared his throat.

“So, the weather turned out fine,” Cas said, after a moment. Dean squinted skywards; through the light canopy, they could make out a pure blue sky.

“Yep, looks like it,” Dean said guiltily.

“You were completely convinced that it was going to rain, this morning.”

“Yeah. I, uh…”

“I thought maybe you didn’t want to come,” Cas said awkwardly, swatting aside a stray branch with one hand, keeping his eyes fixed on the track. “I thought maybe it was some kind of excuse, to get out of being here.”

Dean frowned.

“That’s not it at all,” he assured Cas, though there was an edge to his voice that Cas didn’t like, as though he were keeping something back. “I was just… worried, you know? That we might run into trouble, or whatever.”

Cas unsheathed his blade with a soft  _hiss_.

“Whoa, there, Inigo Montoya,” Dean said with a laugh.

“I can defend us,” Cas said. “You’re not in danger.”

Dean’s expression softened.

“Thanks, Cas,” he said quietly.

They walked on.

**

Two weeks later, and they were out on another hunt. Cas had found some interesting tracks the day before, but the light had been fading and Dean had insisted that they head back to the town.

“For safety,” Dean had said. “You can’t write your book if you’ve had your fingers bitten off, now, can you?”

Today, though, they were starting bright and early, Cas leading the way.

“We’ll find the tracks,” he was saying excitedly, “and follow them. I checked the map last night, and I believe that there’s a small body of water somewhere near where we found the markings. That sounds promising, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean said. “Definitely.”

“What did you think the tracks looked like?” Cas asked, ignoring Dean’s lack of enthusiasm. “They seemed very large, and I definitely made out claw marks. I could only see three toes, though, which would indicate something reptilian, which is bizarre. Perhaps the tracks were a little scuffed…”

He continued to ramble on. They got closer and closer to the place where Cas had found the markings in the dirt, the night before.

“… and I think what we’ll do first is find somewhere to hide near the water, since the animal is bound to – sorry, what was that?”

“Nothing,” Dean said, though Cas could’ve sworn he’d heard Dean mutter something like, “Confun-”.

Dean was looking guilty as hell, squinting at his shoes and twisting his mouth down in distress.

“Cas, listen,” he said. “I don’t wanna – I can’t – I just  _can’t_  make you, but listen, we’ve got to go home. Now. I can’t tell you why.”

Cas stared at Dean, uncomprehending.

“But… Dean, we’re so close,” he said uncertainly. “It’s just round that corner.”

“I know, I get it. I do, man, really. But we’ve got to go. Can you – could you trust me on this?”

Cas hesitated for a long, long moment. He stared longingly down the path for a few seconds, watching the golden sunlight catching on motes of pollen in the air. Finally, he nodded.

“OK, Dean,” he said. “We’ll go home.”

Dean’s expression of misery only increased.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” he said wretchedly. “This is all wrong.”

“I’m fine,” Cas replied, bewildered but not angry. “Dean, I’m fine. Let’s go home, if that’s what you want.”

They walked out of the woods together, side by side, not touching. Cas could feel the heat of uncommunicated emotion radiating from Dean, like walking next to a furnace, but he didn’t fan the flames with questions. He knew already that he’d get no answers.

 _Not yet,_  Cas thought to himself grimly.

**

“Dean?”

It was later that day. Dean had left Cas standing outside his front gate with a terse goodbye and a pat on the shoulder; he could still feel the imprint of Dean’s hand there.

The door of Dean’s house was hanging slightly open. Cas pushed it tentatively, feeling like a burglar. The hallway was empty.

“Dean?” Cas called. His voice echoed around the empty house; he turned away, worried. Dean had seemed so abstracted earlier, and now he’d disappeared, leaving his door open? Cas looked down at the swing seat, where they’d sat together often over the past two weeks, drinking beer and talking a little as they watched the sun go down. He’d leave Dean a note, Cas decided, turning back to face the empty hall-

_Bang._

“Dean!” Cas almost leapt out of his skin. Standing in the doorway, looking ruffled and furious, was Dean Winchester. Seeing Dean’s stormy expression, Cas took a step back, knowing that he’d crossed a line. “Dean, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll go home,” he said quickly, turning away. Dean reached out and put his hand on Cas’ shoulder again, just as he had done earlier, but gripping firmer and standing closer than before. His expression had lightened somewhat on seeing Cas, but it was still full of an intensity that Cas hadn’t seen before. Normally Dean was relaxed, or at least did his best to seem so.

“Sorry to scare you, Cas,” Dean said, pushing Cas down to sit on the swing seat, moving around to perch next to him.

“Where did you come from?” Cas asked. “Was that a gunshot?”

Dean shook his head, stroked Cas’ shoulder with his thumb reassuringly.

“No, that was just me,” he said softly. Cas tilted his head, eyes narrowed in confusion. Dean sighed, dropped his hand away from Cas’ shoulder.

“I’ve got something to tell you, Cas,” he said, twisting his fingers into a knot in his lap. “Something really weird. And I don’t think you’re gonna believe me, but I’m gonna give it a go.”

**

“Tiny tree people,” Cas repeated, his voice so heavy with scepticism that it almost had its own gravitational pull.

“Tiny tree people,” Dean confirmed. “I really don’t know how else to describe a bowtruckle, Cas. You’re just gonna have to wait and see.” He pushed on through the undergrowth, accidentally flicking Cas in the face with a branch.

“Dean, this is insanity,” Cas said. “There is absolutely no way that these creatures exist. Let alone that you’re really a, a –” he hesitated to even use the word, since it sounded completely crazy and a little childish, even inside his head.

“Come here,” Dean muttered, grabbing Cas by the front of his t-shirt and pulling him down to lie flat on the ground, partially hidden by a large shrub. “Now, the ones we have at Hogwarts are much tamer than these guys. These ones’ll probably run if they see us, so don’t move too much. Now, look…  _there._ ” Dean pointed.

Cas rolled his eyes.

“Hogwarts being the magic school for magic people,” he said in a low voice. “I’m lost in the woods with a maniac.” But after a moment, he looked.

At first, he saw nothing. Trees, bushes; a soft blanket of twigs and fallen leaves. Cas frowned; it wasn’t the right time of year for the leaves to be falling. He squinted, then reached back to grab his binoculars out of his backpack.

The leaves seemed to have all fallen from one tree, a large rowan. It looked perfectly healthy, except that in some places its branches had been stripped of leaves, and – Cas frowned. Had he seen movement? He focused his binoculars, and…  _there._ Between the thick lower branches was a small twig, seemingly wandering along the bough on tiny wooden feet.

Cas swallowed.

“Okay,” he said. “So you’re a wizard. Anything else I need to know?”

Dean grinned. “You haven’t seen the half of it,” he said, grabbing Cas’ hand and pulling him to his feet. “Come on, Cas. You might – you might even be able to help.”

**

“Tiny and blue and very angry?” Cas was asking, as they approached the same place they’d been the day before, where Cas had found his mysterious markings.

“I’d say more mischievous than angry,” Dean answered, kicking at the soft dirt under his boots.

“I see,” Cas said, making a note in the pad he’d thankfully brought with him. Dean grinned.

“There are whole books that I can lend you, Cas. I’m the Care of Magical Creatures Professor at Hogwarts, I’ve got ‘em all. I’ll lend them to you.”

“That would be fascinating,” Cas said. “But Dean, I have to ask. Yesterday, you told me we couldn’t be here, and today you’re bringing me back?”

Dean’s expression darkened.

“I’ve been working for the British Ministry of Magic,” he said. “They had a little problem, which I’ve been helping them with. When I told them about your interest, they told me to get you to leave. Put a Confundus Charm, even a Memory Spell on you, if I had to.”

“Confundus…” Cas said thoughtfully. “That’s what you said yesterday. Or nearly did, right?”

“I couldn’t do it,” Dean said angrily. “You’re brilliant, Cas. You’re the only mug- the only  _person_  to follow up on the weird data coming out of this neck of the woods. You don’t deserve to be shut down. So I told Bela to suck it, ‘cause I’m telling you everything.”

He offered Cas a warm half-smile, which Cas returned weakly. He remained mostly confused.

“So… what did the Ministry of Magic have you working on?” Cas asked, following Dean past the tracks on the ground and into the undergrowth.

“Well,” said Dean, stepping high over a patch of nettles, pushing aside the low-hanging branches of a tree and stepping into a small clearing, “I guess you might call it…”

“A - a dragon,” Cas breathed. He was standing stock still, barely breathing. There in front of him, barely six feet away, was a living, breathing dragon.

“Welsh Green,” Dean confirmed quietly. “Escaped from its handler in Cardiff, made it all the way across the Atlantic. We think he must’ve caught a ride on a ship, or something. He’s only a baby.”

Baby or not, the dragon was huge, at least ten feet long; it lay stretched out across the clearing, its eyes closed. It was breathing deeply and regularly.

“Sleeping,” Cas said in wonder.

“That’s what he does most of the time,” Dean said worriedly. “And his skin…”

Cas inspected the dragon’s scales: they looked dry and cracked, even discoloured in some places. Now that he listened properly, the beast’s breathing sounded crackly and laboured, too. He approached it cautiously, one hand on the hilt of his knife.

“He’s tame,” Dean said reassuringly. “He’s been raised around humans.”

Cas knelt down beside the dragon’s head, a respectful two feet away.

The dragon cracked open one brilliantly-green eye, split neatly in two by a wide black pupil. Its gaze looked fuzzy, and there was a strange yellow build-up along the top of its eyelid. When the dragon saw Cas, it made a low, moaning sound in its throat, and rolled over.

“He’s sick,” Cas said, reaching out a hand and rubbing gently along the ridge over the dragon’s eye. It closed its eyes, still making little grunts and snorts of distress. “Really sick.”

“I know,” Dean said miserably, squatting down next to Cas and putting his hand on the dragon’s grumbling belly. “It’s my job to fix him, but I can’t think of anything more than what I’ve done… I’ve given him all the right food, plenty of water, enough heat… I even tried a couple potions, but they didn’t work either.”

Cas put his hand over Dean’s, so that they were rubbing the dragon’s tummy together. After a moment, Dean spread his fingers so that Cas’ fell into the gaps between them, interlaced.

“Can you think of anything?” Dean asked. “I’ve got a bad feeling. He’s too cold and he won’t eat any more. If I don’t think of something…”

“It’s OK, Dean,” Cas said firmly. “We’re going to fix him. I have a few ideas.”

He gently extricated his fingers from Dean’s and stood up, moving around the clearing; the dragon made a rumbling noise of discontent and shifted back onto its stomach. Cas ran his hands over the bushes nearby, then moved towards the pond that he spotted, off to one side. The water looked clear enough, but he pulled a small glass vial out of his backpack and took a sample; it never hurt to be sure.

“We’re going to have to move him,” Cas said, returning to Dean’s side. Dean laughed.

“Have you seen him?” he demanded incredulously. “He’s huge. I can barely lift his tail.”

“He’s going to do it himself,” Cas said. He tapped the dragon lightly on the nose, and it opened its filmy eyes. “Listen,” Cas said seriously. “I know you feel terrible, but you’re going to have to walk for a bit.”

The dragon looked up at him with big, sad eyes.

“We’re going to be right next to you, the whole time. It’s going to be fine. If you feel tired, we’ll stop.”

“Uh, Cas,” Dean said. “You do know that dragons don’t…”

“That’s not important,” Cas said, still looking straight into the dragon’s eyes. “It’s my tone of voice. I want him to trust me. OK, I’m going to try to get him up. Help me?”

Dean pushed his hands underneath the dragon’s belly, levering up with all of his strength, whilst Cas tugged around the dragon’s neck.

“What about that thing you did to my boxes?” he asked, panting slightly with the effort. “I’m guessing that was a spell of some kind?”

“Won’t work on a dragon,” Dean grunted. “Scales are impervious to magic.”

They heaved, and heaved. Finally, with a pathetic mewling noise, the dragon wobbled to his feet.

“Good boy,” Cas said, pulling lightly on one of the small horns sprouting out of the dragon’s forehead. “Come on, good boy. This way.”

They walked out of the woods, slowly and quietly, listening out for hikers or picnickers from the town.

“Where are we going?” Dean hissed at one point, as the sky began to darken.

“Um,” said Cas, “your house.”

“Mine?!” Dean demanded.

“Yes.”

“Why mine?! Why not yours?”

“This is your dragon,” Cas said.

“Is  _not_! He belongs to some guy in Cardiff!”

“Do you see the guy from Cardiff anywhere around here?” Cas asked placidly.

“No, but –”

“Then he’s staying at yours, Dean.”

**

If the dragon had seemed huge in the woods, it was no comparison to how he looked inside Dean’s living room. He had his head rested on the sofa, and his tail curled around the television.

“I’m never gonna be able to watch Doctor Sexy with him in here,” Dean moaned.

Cas looked at him askance.

“Yeah, you heard,” Dean said defiantly. “So, what’s the plan now?”

“I’m going to test this water for any strange impurities,” Cas said, removing his sample from his backpack. “And you mentioned that you could get me some books? Those would be good to have.”

“I’ll have to apparate to England and find my copies,” Dean said. “I’ll be gone a few hours, I can’t apparate right into the Hogwarts grounds. You OK with that?”

“I don’t know what apparate means,” Cas said. “Other than that, I’m fine.”

**

The dragon’s improvement was painfully slow.

In the first week, Cas spent every night tending to him, running his soft, human hands over the dragon’s smooth belly scales and talking softly. Dean would boil up water, change the blankets, and clear up the dragon’s mess.

“I get all the glamourous jobs,” he said.

One night, Dean overheard Cas singing to the dragon. He aborted his move to open the door and simply stood in the hallway, clutching warm, fresh sheets and mouthing along to the words of  _Lean on Me_.

Dean made a visit to the Ministry of Magic that week, informing them that since the breach of magical code had happened outside their area of jurisdiction, Bela was kindly invited to stick all her threats where dragonfire couldn’t reach. She didn’t take it well, which only made Dean happier as he apparated home.

In the second week, Cas slept on the sofa, with the dragon’s head resting lightly against the side of his body. During the day, he would read the books that Dean had brought for him. He’d make copious notes of his own on scraps of paper, based on his own observations. Some nights, Dean would join him on the sofa, their legs tangled loosely together whilst Cas read and Dean watched TV with the volume low. Sometimes Cas would be muttering “scale rot” or “poisoning?”, and Dean would touch a hand to the top of Cas’ head and leave him to it. The dragon didn’t get worse, but he didn’t get better, either.

“By the way,” Cas said casually one night; Dean was lounging on the sofa and he was sat on the floor, leaning back with one of Dean’s legs on either side of him. “The first time we met, when you were lifting those boxes and unpacking all my stuff, that was…”

“Magic, yeah.”

“So you were just…”

“Trying really hard to impress you. Yep.”

“Show-off,” said Cas.

“It’s only showing off if you were impressed,” Dean said, and Cas swatted his knee with  _Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit._

In the third week, they found it. Cas had a headache from reading too much in the low evening light, and Dean brought him down a bottle of painkillers. Cas rolled the pills around thoughtfully in his hand.

“What are these?” he asked, as Dean placed a cup of warm tea next to him.

“It’s a cup of tea,” Dean replied. “I went to the store, and they said this would help.”

“No, I mean – thank you, Dean, but – what are these?” he held up the painkillers.

“Oh, just aspirin, man. My dad used them all the time, and I do too... don't trust myself with healing spells, never was much good at 'em. You never had these before?”

“No,” Cas mused. “I never needed to, I don’t really get ill. Do they work on fevers?”

“They work on most things,” Dean said, and so Cas fed twelve of them to the dragon.

The next day, Cas was awakened by a soft, steady pressure on the back of his neck.

“Dean?” he muttered groggily, rolling over. There, behind him, still lying down but with bright, clear eyes, was the dragon. It made a happy, snuffling noise, and looked at him expectantly.

“Oh,” said Cas. “Hello.”

The dragon tilted its head questioningly.

“He’s been spending too much time around you,” Dean said. “He’s picking up your mannerisms, man.”

Cas rolled upright, scratching along the top of the dragon’s head, paying special attention to the place behind his right horn. The dragon burbled happily, and reached back to wrap his tail around Dean’s leg, pulling him closer.

“Do you have any more aspirin?” Cas asked Dean as he was thrown onto the sofa, rather enthusiastically, by the dragon’s whipping tail.

“Plenty,” Dean said. “Have you written all this down? Cas, you solved it. You made him better!”

“Let’s not get our hopes up,” Cas said. “He could still relapse.”

But by the fourth week, the dragon was up and about, bouncing around Dean’s house with a vast surplus of energy. Dean and Cas took to going on late-night walks, allowing the dragon some time to play outside.

“Dean,” said Cas on one of those nights. August was drawing to an end, and the cold was starting to bite. He folded his arms.

“Yeah, Cas?” Dean was standing next to him, watching the dragon running around the field, coughing sparks occasionally.

“Can you… can you do some magic?” Cas asked. He’d managed to restrain himself from asking for three entire weeks, which he thought was almost heroic. He’d never have managed it if he hadn’t been so wrapped up in helping their dragon.

Dean cocked his head, raising his eyebrows.

“Sure,” he said. He reached into his pocket and drew out a long, sturdy stick of wood.

“Is that…” Cas asked, his tone hushed reverently.

“My wand? Yep. Wanna hold it?”

Cas turned the strip of wood over in his fingers.

“I don’t feel anything,” he said.

“No, well, you wouldn’t,” Dean said. “Because you’re a muggle.”

“Ah,” said Cas. “A non-magic person, I see.” He handed the wand back, a little sadly. Dean noticed the downturn to his mouth, and frowned.

“ _Orchideous_ ,” he murmured softly, concentrating; a single, blue orchid appeared at the tip of his wand. He handed it to Cas silently; Cas accepted it with wide eyes, feeling its petals, sniffing it tentatively.

“It’s real,” Cas said. A small smile blossomed on his face, and Dean felt his heart stutter.

“Real as you and me,” Dean replied.

Cas looked up at him.

“Thank you, Dean,” he said quietly, reaching out and taking Dean’s hand in his own. Dean twisted his fingers into Cas’, smiling slightly.

“Are we ever gonna talk about this?” he asked, lifting their joined hands up between them. Cas looked surprised, hopeful.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Cas said.

Dean shrugged, a little awkwardly.

“I have to go back to Hogwarts next week,” he said. “And… I should take the dragon with me. But that’d mean…”

“I’d be on my own,” Cas said. He felt a sick wave of horror swoop over his stomach at the thought. He’d been alone for  _so long_ , and now he’d had a taste of what it was like to share his life with someone else, someone who he liked a great deal, perhaps even –

“There’s not much I can do,” Dean said, watching Cas’ smile fade with a dark, angry sensation. “Term is starting, and now that the dragon’s better, his handler wants him back.”

“The handler who let him escape in the first place?” Cas demanded, and then waved his free hand dismissively, still holding on to the blue flower. “No, I’m sure it wasn’t the handler’s fault. It’s just…” he felt a lump rise in his throat. Dean dropped Cas’ hand and put his arms around Cas’ waist instead, pulling him in close. He felt Cas shaking slightly, and found himself pressing a light kiss to Cas’ forehead. Cas went completely still, and then relaxed into Dean’s embrace.

“We’ll figure something out, Cas,” Dean said.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Cas whispered into Dean’s neck, hushed and ashamed as though it were a dirty secret.

“I don’t want to leave you,” Dean responded, hugging Cas tighter. The dragon came bounding up, wrapping his tail around the pair of them and grumbling happily. Cas looked up, and tucked the blue orchid behind Dean’s ear.

“We’ll figure something out,” Cas repeated, his smile half joy, half heartbreak.

**

_Three and a half months later_

Knock knock, knock. Three knocks, just like always. Cas threw open the door, and Dean pushed his way inside, wiping his feet on the doormat. His nose was bright pink with cold, and he had a light dusting of snow across his shoulders, and on top of his woollen hat.

“It’s freezing out there,” said Dean unnecessarily, as Cas leaned in and pecked him lightly on the lips. “Mmmm.” He tucked his hands inside the waistband of Cas’ jeans, pulling him in close and kissing him more soundly.

“Want to see my latest acquisition?” Cas asked, when they broke apart. Dean groaned.

“Cas, I told you,  _no more pets_ ,” he said. Cas smiled with a hint of mischief.

“He’s not a pet, he’s a friend!” he said. Dean smacked him lightly on the shoulder with a smile.

“OK, show me,” he said. Cas took him by the hand and led him through their house, past the giant windows in the kitchen with their views looking down on Hogsmeade village, and finally through to the animal room – or rather,  _rooms_ , thought Dean with a fondly exasperated sigh.

He’d managed to convince the Headmaster at Hogwarts to allow him to live off-site with Castiel, and they’d bought the biggest house they could find within travelling distance, just a mile or so outside the village. Good thing Cas was rich enough to afford this place, Dean thought, stepping into the menagerie. Owls of various descriptions stood on perches or nestled in custom-built crevices in the walls; frogs ribbitted wetly in spacious tanks; three cats wound their way around Dean and Cas’ legs as they made for the far side of the animal’s complex.

“What,” said Dean, as they approached a tiny metal cage. “What the  _hell_ is that.”

“That,” said Cas, slipping his arm around Dean’s waist and tucking his hand into Dean’s back pocket, “is Dean. Dean is a Pygmy Puff.”

In his cage, Dean the Pygmy Puff gave a little wriggle of delight and squeaked happily.

“I named him after you,” Cas said, kissing Dean’s cheek, “because he was fighting with the other Pygmy Puffs when I chose him. And he snores.”

As if on cue, the purple ball of fluff flopped to the bottom of its cage, and began to make regular  _wggg, wggg_ noises.

Dean shook his head, looking at Cas with mingled affection and exasperation.

“I love you,” he said, “and you’re a pain in the ass.”

Cas grinned.

“I love you,” he replied, “and you’re perfect.”

Dean cupped Cas’ cheek and kissed him, sweet and soft, with the warmth of familiarity.

From above them, there came a huff of hot breath, a low grumble of contentment. A long, green tail reached down and slipped around Dean and Cas’ waists, lifting them both up to the dragon eyrie that they’d built for their Welsh Green.

“Evening,” Dean said, patting the dragon’s scales. The dragon lowered his head to butt it gently against his owners’ shoulders. He was fully-grown now, at least eighteen feet long, with magnificent green horns on top of his head and bright, piercing emerald eyes.

“His handler wrote again,” Cas said, rubbing his thumb absently along Dean’s jawline, enjoying the closeness of their bodies as the dragon kept them bound tight together with his tail. “He wished us all the best.”

Dean made a low, happy noise in his throat, which the dragon echoed.

“What shall we have for dinner?” Cas asked, as Dean kissed his cheek.

“Roast Pygmy Puff?”

“ _Dean!_ ”

“Kidding! I bought us some stuff. Got pumpkin juice for you.”

Cas kissed Dean’s nose in thanks.

“How’s the book?” Dean asked.

“Coming along,” Cas replied. “Most of the notes are collated. Now it’s just a question of making it sound nice.”

“You’re gonna be the next authority on dragons,” Dean said, beaming with pride. Cas pressed a kiss to Dean’s neck.

“Do you… think there’s time before dinner?” he asked slyly. Dean sighed, and rolled his eyes.

“Fine,” he said, “but it’s got to be quick.”

Cas wriggled out of the dragon’s tail, pecked Dean on the lips, and jumped on to the dragon’s back.

“Ready?” he whispered in the dragon’s ear. The dragon burbled a low, guttural answer, his belly thrumming in expectation. “Let’s go!”

They took off, leaping out of the huge, open window and into the bright, cold evening. Dean watched them go, one hand shielding his eyes. He smiled to himself, shook his head, and started his descent from the eyrie, heading for the kitchen.

“Show-off,” he muttered, grinning, as he climbed down the steps.


End file.
